Missing Moments
by living in dreamland
Summary: Just what the title says. A collection of short scenes and conversations, fairly philosophical, not necessarily in chronological order.
1. Missing Edmund

Got the idea for this scene from the BBC version of _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_. On one hand, I liked how it portrayed the passage of time from when they discovered Edmund was missing to when he actually reached the Witch's castle, with the sun setting and the scenes showing Edmund's progress, unlike the Disney version, which basically had Edmund there in a matter of minutes. That said, that made it even more annoying how long it took them to leave. Like, seriously, Mrs. Beaver, you're supposed to be running for your lives from the Witch and her wolves, you have bigger things to worry about than the fate of your sewing machine. Slightly AU scene where they are much better prepared and things are explained a bit more.

* * *

 _"Well, we can't outrun the Witch, no matter what we do, because she'll have her sled and we'll be on foot," Mrs. Beaver said._

 _"So we've no hope?" Lucy exclaimed._

 _"Of course there's hope. We may not be able to outrun them, but we can keep out of sight and go by ways they won't expect."_

She paused momentarily in her preparations, double-checking the contents of six bags she had packed the moment Mr. Beaver had come home with news of Lucy's coming. She shook her head and resumed her work before continuing, "Besides, I don't think we need to worry about that just yet. Your brother has to reach her first, after all, to tell her where we are. It's a fair distance and the weather doesn't look promising and he doesn't seem like the most active sort. He can't have gotten too far yet."

"Then why can't we just go after him?" Peter demanded.

"Wouldn't do any good, I'm afraid," Mr. Beaver put in, as he passed out their coats and boots. "If he's met the Witch and eaten her food, then he's under her spell, and even supposing we could overtake him and drag him back here, the moment we let him out of our sight, he'd just go running back to her. All it would accomplish is making him more set against you. No, the only way to break the enchantment is for him to see for himself what she's really like.

"Now, our best hope is to get a move on and pray for fair weather and safe travels for us, and long, hard trip for him. Understand, I don't wish your brother any harm, but I pray the wind and snow might always be in his face, slowing his steps and getting him turned around now and then, so that he doesn't arrive at the Witch's house a moment to soon."

"Amen," Mrs. Beaver exclaimed.

"I just can't believe he would do this," Susan exclaimed as she buttoned Lucy's coat.

"Can't you?" Mrs. Beaver asked mildly.

"Now, look here," Peter began.

"Calm yourself, dear, no offense meant," Mrs. Beaver replied. "I won't say it isn't bad, but I do think there may be some...extenuating circumstances in the case. I don't suppose he knew she was a witch at first, and he couldn't have known about the prophecy. So he comes across her, and she says she's the queen, and perhaps she asks him what he's doing there and he says she's looking for you, so she wants to meet you, which seems a reasonable enough request if she did promise to make him a king or a prince or something, because you can't just give someone a position like that without knowing where they come from and what sort of people they are, in case they're a bad sort. And besides, he is only a child, and you know there have been many older and wiser than him who have been taken in by the Witch."

"True enough," said Mr. Beaver. "No, it's not our place to condemn or excuse him. That's Aslan's business. I don't know, but he may grow up to be a fine, upstanding man yet. Or he might not. Now, let's get a move on."


	2. Missing Eustace

"He's a horrid little beast, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad he was gone," Edmund said decisively. Then his expression softened and he rubbed a hand over his face. "But I guess you might have said the same about me once."

"Oh, Edmund," Lucy interjected, but Edmund held up a hand.

"No, Lu, it's alright," he said. "I _was_ awful. But you still took me back, so I suppose the least we could do is try to look for him now."

They walked side by side in silence for a moment before Lucy spoke again.

"Why—"

She broke off just as suddenly as she had started and looked embarrassed.

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Lucy." Edmund stopped and touched Lucy's arm. Their eyes met. "It's alright. What did you want to know?"

"Why _were_ you so awful?"

Now Edmund looked embarrassed. He sighed and continued walking. "It was stupid. At first it was just jealousy. Peter and Susan always came first in everything and acted so grown up, always bossing us around, and then you were the baby and Mum was always fussing over you—" He paused, evidently ashamed to hear the old bitterness creeping into his voice. "I'm sorry," he continued in a subdued tone. "It's just that I knew no matter how hard I tried, I could never compete with any of you, and then I went to school..."

"Was it _so_ bad?"

"Not so bad. It might have been worse. And Peter did try to help, but I didn't want to listen to him. Then I made some friends who...well, they weren't the best. They broke the rules a lot and liked to pick on the younger kids, but I thought, well, at least I can be on the winning side for once." He stole a glance at Lucy. "Things weren't like that at your school, were they?"

Lucy was silent a moment, then answered, "No, not exactly. I think girl friendships are different."

"Different how?"

"Well, it's like this. I'm friends with Eleanor, and she's friends with Anne, and Anne and I don't get on well but we have to act friendly with each other for Eleanor's sake. Anne might say something snide on occasion, but she would never be too direct about it or there might be gossip. Girls can't just fight things out like boys do."

"Doesn't stop them at—" Edmund stopped again and smacked his forehead, muttering something that sounded like, "Idiot." At Lucy's puzzled look, he explained, "Eustace. He goes to Experiment House, doesn't he?"

Lucy nodded, understanding. "Oh. It's bad there, isn't it?"

"I suppose between that and having Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta as parents, it's a wonder he's not worse than he is."

* * *

Wow, I can't believe I already have a comment. :D Thanks for reading!


	3. Missing Sleep

When Edmund first found out about Lucy's nightmares, his first instinct was to blame himself. Though his own nights tended to be mercifully peaceful, there were still times during his waking hours when his conscience attacked him, taking him back to his time as the Witch's prisoner, the despair he had felt when he realized what he'd done, his desperate prayers to a God he did not yet know, his solemn promise that if he was ever rescued, he would never stop trying to make it up to Lucy for as long as he lived.

He had been ready enough to blame Peter and Susan at the time. After all, they were always acting so high and mighty, trying to be like Mum and Dad, not even trying to understand him, but Lucy... Lucy had been innocent. What's more, she had been right. About everything. He should have listened, should have protected her. She didn't deserve what he'd done to her, and even before he came face to face with the great Lion and felt the full weight of all his sins, he knew he didn't deserve her forgiveness.

So when he was awoken late one night, a few weeks after their second trip to Narnia, by the sound of her crying in the next room, he was ready to offer her what comfort he could, leading her to the kitchen, seeing her comfortably settled by the fire, making her tea and holding her hand and feeling his heart break anew when she revealed, with great reluctance, the cause of her distress.

"I dreamed...you didn't...believe me," she hiccuped. "No one did. And I couldn't..."

Logically, he knew it wasn't entirely his own fault. He could have rightly blamed Peter and Susan for brushing her off when she tried to tell them she saw Aslan. _He_ had believed her. Yet he'd failed her all the same when he didn't stand behind her.

After an hour or so of whispered apologies and reassurances and painful self-recriminations, Edmund succeeded in not only calming Lucy down but even making her laugh as he shared happier memories of their old home. He continued to watch her carefully, but after a few months, and then a year passed without incident, he hoped all was truly well.

* * *

Spoilers: It wasn't. To be continued...


	4. Missing Home

Narnia was beautiful. Magical. Like a wonderful dream. Still, the four children were only children, and as exciting as it was to hear they would rule the whole land as kings and queens, the night before their coronation was hardly a restful one, filled with doubts and fears and apprehensions.

With Mr. Tumnus' arrest, Edmund's disappearance, and the Witch and her wolves pursuing them, they had not had the time or energy to think very deeply about what was happening. They were determined. They were brave. They ran on adrenaline and they survived. But now, with the battle over, the Witch dead, and everything finally settling down, the stress started catching up to them, leaving them exhausted and uncertain and terribly homesick.

Unable to sleep, they met in the girls' tent to discuss the situation, though none of them knew what to say. Lucy was the first to break the silence.

"Do you think we'll ever get back?"

The others began taking all at once. Susan was for heading home immediately, arguing that they had done their part and were no longer needed. Besides, the Professor was sure to be worried. Edmund, who was just beginning to notice the quiet, peaceful beauty of Narnia, wondered if they might stay just a little longer. Peter was torn, wanting to stay and explore and rule, but knowing that they ought to go back, if they could.

"Peace, children." The Lion appeared among them without warning, silencing them at once. He met each of their gazes before asking, "Do you truly wish to return home?"

Seeing that no one else was about to speak, Peter answered carefully, "It's not that don't like it here, sir, and I'm sure we'd all like to stay longer, but we're afraid they'll be terribly worried about us there, when they realize we're gone. And," he looked at the others, hesitant to admit that he was as homesick as anyone, "we would miss our parents, and..."

"Peace," the Lion repeated. "You will not remain here forever. You will live and reign at Cair Paravel for many years, but when the time is right, you shall return, just as you were, to the proper time and place from which you came. Now, do you truly wish to return at once?"

With this reassurance, the children were greatly comforted, and they agreed that they should be happy to stay.

* * *

In Narnia, Peter missed being a child. He missed his parents. He missed waking up without the fate of a nation on his shoulders and everyone looking to him for answers.

In England, he missed the freedom, of course, but he didn't miss the long, hard military campaigns, or visiting the families of soldiers who had fallen under his command (though he had always insisted on going, all the same, every single time).

In Narnia, Susan missed her friends from school. She missed her parents. She missed when life was safe and simple and logical, when the harsh realities of war were something they were carefully shielded from.

In England, she missed being a queen, the picture of beauty, grace, and elegance, admired by all, able to silence a room with a mere word or look. She missed the luxury of Cair Paravel, especially after they returned to ordinary life in cold, gray London, though she did feel the slightest bit relieved when she was no longer expected to be poised and graceful and gentleall the time.

In Narnia, Edmund missed having newspapers and radios and telephones to convey news quickly. He missed his parents. He missed when the greatest injustices he witnessed involved older students bullying younger ones, which could be dealt with quickly enough.

In England, he missed having the power to change things himself, but he didn't miss the meetings of state that put his patience and diplomatic skills to the test, or the long trials he was often forced to preside over (which were hardly ever simple matters).

In Narnia, Lucy missed her parents.

In England, she missed Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers and their friends in Archenland, and, of course, Aslan.

But they learned. They could hardly have lived in Narnia for all those years without learning anything they could take back to their own world.

Peter learned what it was to be a hero, that a good leader always listened to wise council, and that victory never came without a cost.

Susan learned how to show grace under pressure, how to carry herself in such a way that made everyone take notice, and that silk could hide steel.

Edmund learned about justice and mercy and the responsibilities that came with power, and how to use his skills to help rather than hurt others.

Lucy learned to stand tall and fight for what was right, with a confidence and conviction that made people listen.

They learned about faith and trust, about life and death and what came after, lessons that were reinforced when they discovered Aslan's other name and again when Eustace and Jill returned with news of Caspian being alive in Aslan's Country. So while they missed Aslan and their old friends, they took comfort in knowing that someday, somehow, they wouldmeet again, and in time, they threw themselves into Bible study and prayer and occasionally breaking bread and reminiscing with the other Friends of Narnia, as they called themselves. It wasn't quite the same, but it was enough.

They learned other things, as well. Naturally, Aslan had appointed tutors to ensure that the young kings and queens would receive a proper education while in Narnia. They were thoroughly instructed in etiquette and decorum, public speaking and debate, international relations, conflict resolution, intelligence, defense resource allocation, weaponry, and self-defense, as well as more mundane subjects such as science and mathematics. Lucy had even studied grammar from an old book written by Queen Helen herself, who had taught school in the country for a year before she was married. Some lessons faded from memory, but others remained, so that within days of returning to school, Edmund and Lucy had both advanced a grade, while Peter and Susan were allowed to take a few advanced classes.

They returned as children, yet more than children, something which everyone around them could hardly help noticing, though they couldn't quite explain it. Though their crowns were lost, they remained kings and queens, Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant.


	5. Missing Sleep, part 2

_Timeline for reference:_

Peter Susan Edmund Lucy Eustace Jill

LWW (Summer 1940) 13 12 9 8

PC (Fall 1941) 14 13 11* 9

VODT (Summer 1943**) 16 15 12 11 10

SC (Fall 1943) 16 15 13 11 10 10

LB (Fall 1949) 22 21 19 17 16 16

*According to PC, Edmund's birthday falls the week before school starts, and the timeline says he and Lucy were born a year apart.

**The official timeline states VODT and SC take place in 1942, but I believe VODT also says the war was over, which wasn't until 1945, so really, it's anyone's guess.

* * *

 **June 1944:**

Lucy dreamed of Peter, no longer a boy, older and more serious and so much like their father. A paternal smile touched with condescension, a quick shake of the head, "I'm busy, Lu. I don't have time for games right now." No longer magnificent, always busy, locking himself in his room, poring over books and papers. One day, he might stand in front of his own church, admired and applauded for his fine-sounding speeches full of platitudes he hardly believed himself. He would speak a great deal about religion but hardly ever about faith. Or perhaps he would switch to a more practical subject, such as politics or psychology. "War does funny things to people," he would say knowingly. "Living in constant fear like that might drive anyone mad. It's a terrible shame."

She dreamed of Edmund, practicing law, making a great name for himself, staying up nights brooding over the injustices of the world. She saw him growing cold and calculating and dismissive of miracles, skeptical of claims of innocence, outright scornful of claims of reformation. He would allow himself to be taken by the old hunger for power, doing whatever it took to win. Impossible to reach or reason with, he would always remain a hero in his own mind, undoubtedly _just_ when compared to the lowlifes around him.

She dreamed of herself, growing too old for fairy stories, setting aside her sketches and flower crowns, accepting her place in this cold, unremarkable, unmagical world. It would be the easiest thing in the world to say it had all been a lie. And then what? It hardly mattered. The world was changing; she might be anything. She might get into politics. She might travel. She might be a teacher or a nurse or a journalist. She might be a proper young lady or a bold new woman. With a little makeup and attention to her clothes, she might even be beautiful.

She dreamed of mirrors and portraits of herself, when she was older. She dreamed of a book she had read once, of a spell which would make her the envy of all. No, she didn't want to be so beautiful that men would start wars over her, and she didn't want to try to compete with Susan, but here was Susan all the same, testing different smiles in front of a mirror, looking more like a queen than a child with every passing day.

Lucy said as much and saw a sudden change in Susan's expression.

"Honestly, Lucy, I wish you'd give it a rest," she said sharply, irritation flashing across her face. "We're too old to keep playing those games."

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. It's bad enough that you insist on making up these ridiculous stories, but now people are starting to talk. Anyone would think you actually _believe_ them."

"You don't?" Lucy asked in confusion, feeling a sudden chill as she searched Susan's face and found none of the former gentleness there. "But we were there. You remember—"

Susan scoffed. "We don't all have _your_ imagination, Lucy. It was fine when we were children, with nothing better to do than run about the Professor's dusty old house playing pretend, but it's time you grew up. We're not kings and queens, there's no such things as talking animals, and I don't want to hear any more about your make-believe countries. Maybe _you_ don't care what people think, but I'd like to show my face at school without hearing whispers about _mad relations_. You might at least try to behave yourself in church, rather than whispering and passing notes to the boys."

Sensing Peter and Edmund come in behind her, Lucy turned to them for support, only to find that they too wore expressions of annoyed indifference.

"We're sorry we encouraged her, Su," Peter said wearily. "We didn't think it would go this far."

"But it was real," Lucy protested. She turned back to Susan and saw a lion, _the Lion_ , appear suddenly beside her. He was larger than ever, but try as she might, Lucy couldn't make the others see, and as she watched, he began to slowly fade from sight, until finally, she was left alone.

* * *

"But it was real...it was...it was..."

She tried to shout, but emotion choked the words until they came out only as a whisper.

"Lucy?"

Edmund had just gotten up to get a drink of water when he heard her. He slipped into her room and knelt by her bed, first trying to soothe and then gently shake her awake.

"Lucy, shhh, it's alright. Lu, come on, wake up."

The last thing he wanted to do was wake Peter up to ask for help, but his concern quickly grew to alarm and overruled his pride. It had been easy enough to reassure her last time, when she had been merely distressed by a bad dream, but now, she was utterly distraught and inconsolable, her face burning, her hair damp with sweat, and her whole body shaking with sobs.

* * *

"She said _what_?"

As Peter sat with Lucy on the couch, Edmund sank into an adjacent chair, his expression quickly changing from one of shock to barely contained fury. "How _could_ she?"

"Maybe," Peter offered, with a burst of desperate optimism, "maybe she didn't mean it. Maybe she's the one who's only pretending. She _can't_ have really forgotten Narnia and Aslan and...everything."

"Then _why?_ "

Peter closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, and sighed heavily. "I should have known," he said, as much to himself as the others. "I should have seen it. She's just...hurt and angry and...jealous."

"Jealous?" Edmund asked incredulously. "Did we mention the time we were kidnapped and almost sold by slavers?"

"I try not to think of it," Peter muttered quickly.

"Then Eustace was turned into a dragon..."

"Now that, I would have liked to see."

"And he said he and Jill were nearly eaten by giants," Edmund concluded. "Their own fault, really, but still. Besides, even during our so-called Golden Age, it wasn't all fun and games. Remember all those long council meetings we had to sit through?"

"I still have nightmares," Peter said with a faint smile. "And then there were all the lessons. Weaponry, battle tactics, diplomacy, courtly manners and deportment..."

"Grammar and composition, public speaking, the history of the world," Lucy piped up, smiling through her tears.

"Astronomy taught by centaurs, botany with the dryads, even _maths_ , of all things," Edmund added. "Remember just before our coronation? Here we thought we'd have a nice long holiday, and we ended up working harder than ever. All the schools here really are rubbish in comparison."

He paused and grew sober once more. "Look, I won't deny that Narnia was the best thing that ever happened to us, and I _am_ sorry you couldn't be there with us last time, but... Susan..." He shook his head, clearly at a loss. "No, I'm sorry, Peter, but I _can't_ understand this. I can't sit here and try to think up logical excuses for...this." He glanced at Lucy, who was now more composed but clearly still upset. He stood abruptly and began pacing the room, taking care to keep his voice down so as not to wake their parents.

"Sure it was hard to come back, and know we were really back _for good,_ but nothing about this was ever exactly _easy_. All those meetings and lessons, the battles and wars, all those times we nearly _died_. You know the _Gentle Queen_ always hated that. And I don't know about you, but as hard as it was to come back and be a regular kid again, it was nice to wake up knowing people's _lives_ weren't in our hands anymore.

"And then you can't deny that you and Susan had it easier when we went back home the first time," Edmund continued, forestalling any objections with a raised hand. "Listen, Lu and I were just precocious little kids, but _you_ were already a _young man_ and _young lady_. That's why last summer, you got to go visit the Professor, and Susan got to go to _America,_ while we were stuck with the Scrubbs, of all people.

"And now we're all here for good, but at least we're here together, and then there's the Professor and Aunt Polly and Eustace and Jill, and now we know _He's_ here too. So even if we can't go back, it's like you said when we first arrived at the Professor's house, remember? _We've fallen on our feet and no mistake._ "

Peter wanted to argue, to find some sort of justification or explanation, anything that would help him make sense of the situation, but no answers were forthcoming.

"I'm going to talk to her," he said finally, only to be stopped by the other two.

"Please don't," Lucy said. "She already thinks I'm being a baby; I don't want her to think I'm a tattletale as well."

"Besides," Edmund said reasonably, "we won't get very far if she feels like we're all ganging up on her. And she'll hardly be inclined to listen if we wake her up at..." —he glanced at the clock— "one in the morning."

"Right, of course. Tomorrow then." Peter sighed and shook his head. "Come on, you two had better get some sleep."

"What about you?" Edmund asked.

"I'll be along in a bit," Peter replied. "I just need some...time."

His eyes wandered to the bookshelf which held the family Bible, which had received a great deal more attention than usual in recent months. They each had their own copy, of course, but there was something comforting about the large, old, leather-bound volume that had been passed down from their grandparents and always seemed to open to precisely the right passage. Edmund saw it and nodded.

"Right. Well, don't stay up too late. You know Mum and Dad might worry if they find you sleeping on the couch."

* * *

Peter woke up late the next morning, in his own bed, fortunately, and found Edmund in the kitchen making brunch.

While Edmund had never been able to look at Turkish delight the same way after his time with the Witch, he had never lost his sweet tooth. So after about the third time he was caught sneaking about Cair Paravel's kitchens while dessert was being prepared, one of the kitchen staff, a grandmotherly little dwarf, had taken pity on him and beckoned him over.

"Would you like to learn how to bake, your Majesty?"

"Me?" Edmund had stared in surprise. Of course he knew men could cook as well as women. Bachelors often had to cook for themselves, his own father made the best pancakes in the world, and his Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta sometimes made a fuss about _equitable division of household labor_ and so on (though neither of them were really much good at cooking), but for all that, it had simply never occurred to him that _he_ could learn to bake. His old friends from school surely would have laughed, but the idea of learning to make sweets himself rather appealed to him.

"Here's a simple recipe," the dwarf began, offering him a cookbook, "and a great favorite of King Frank the First."

So Edmund had learned countless recipes by heart and wrote most of them down when they returned from Narnia, and it was a common occurrence that when any of them were particularly homesick, he would emerge from the kitchen with a little treat and a memory or two to share. Even with the war rationing, he could always manage it somehow.

On this particular morning, he greeted Peter with a silent nod and a gesture toward a plate of tarts and two cups of coffee on the table. Helping himself to some scrambled eggs, he sat down across from him and waited.

"Did you get much sleep?" Peter asked, after his cup had been sufficiently drained. He took a large bite of tart and let his gaze wander absently around the room.

Edmund shrugged, his own eyes fixed on his plate. "Not really. You?"

"No." He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the door. "Where is everyone?"

"Mum and Dad went out about half an hour ago. I told them you were up late studying. They said to tell you not to work too hard. Fortunately they didn't wonder about Lucy sleeping in. Su was already gone by the time I got up. Mum said one of her friends came by early to pick her up; she probably won't be home all day."

They sat in silence a moment longer before Peter spoke again.

"I don't know that I've ever asked before, and maybe I should have. How have you been doing with...everything?"

Edmund looked up in surprise. "Me? I'm fine. You don't see me crying or acting like we just _imagined_ the place we spent half our lives, do you?"

"Ed. I'm serious."

"So am I."

They stared at each other for a minute. Peter was the first to look away.

"I just...I should have _known_. I knew it wasn't easy for us all to get back to normal, but I never thought it was this bad. I thought we were alright."

"It's not, and we are. At least Lucy and I are, and you can't blame yourself about Susan. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary either. It's not your fault."

"You're sure you're alright? Honestly?"

"Yes, Peter, I'm sure. Honestly."

"You do seem calmer than last night, at least."

Edmund shrugged again. "Well, I thought it over, and maybe you were right. Maybe she was just saying all that. And if not... _It's not our place to condemn or excuse._ Isn't that what Mr. Beaver said?" He always thought the Beavers had been incredibly gracious, considering he had nearly gotten them killed, and had never failed to defer to their wisdom during his reign. "She might come around, or she might not. But I don't suppose it'll do any of us any good to waste energy being angry."

"Well, I'm glad one of us can be so sensible." Peter's expression deepened into a scowl. "The more I think of it, the less I understand. It feels like...like..."

"Betrayal?" Edmund supplied quietly.

Peter looked up quickly. Somehow, in almost twenty years, they had never directly broached the subject. Aslan had said there was no need to speak of what had passed, so they hadn't, and Peter had thought that everything was fine. Now, as he saw traces of guilt flashing across Edmund's face, and practically heard the thoughts running through his mind, he wondered if this was yet another thing he had overlooked.

"Ed, don't. I mean, it's not... It wasn't... Look, you were an idiot, but you were just a kid."

Edmund shook his head, avoiding meeting Peter's eyes. "You want to know the truth, Peter? The truth is, I hated you. I hated you, and Susan, and sometimes even Lucy. The truth is, I _didn't_ know she was a witch at first, and I was half-convinced she _would_ be nice to you, but only half. Do you think I never doubted? I must have stopped a dozen times on the way to her house and wondered if I was really doing the right thing. I could have stopped and turned back, but I didn't. Because I wanted to be king and rub it in all your stupid faces. I betrayed you. It was my own choice, and it wasn't your fault, or Susan's, or anyone else's." He took a deep breath. "Look, I don't want to be angry at Susan. I think I understand her better than I'd like, and I want to believe that she'll come around like I did, and I'd be a hypocrite to hold this against her, but I'd rather be mad at her than watch you beat yourself up like this."

"Well, I don't want you to beat yourself up either. We were both wrong. And we were both forgiven, so there's no sense in bringing it up again."

* * *

"The way I see it," Edmund said some time later, after the dishes had been cleared, "it's more than her just trying to be _grown up._ It's as if...she doesn't really know who she is, or who she's supposed to be, so she's always tried to be _like_ someone. At least she used to have better role models."

Peter thought a moment. "You mean how she always used to try to act like Mum?"

Edmund nodded. "And how she was always trying to be _the smart one._ "

"She _is_ smart," Peter said sternly. Disappointed as he was with Susan, he couldn't deny she had been gifted with cleverness, which had, until recently, been combined with a good deal of hard work.

"Of course she is," Edmund continued, "but you know what I mean. She was never really _that_ interested in school or getting high marks, but it made Mum and Dad happy and set her apart from the rest of us. But after we got back the first time, and everyone thought we'd learned so much from the Professor, it didn't matter as much. And then she decided to be _grown up_ and got all popular, and suddenly, poor Susan is _no good at schoolwork_."

The truth was, even Susan's most grown up friends found Lucy charming, and sometimes thought Susan's extreme disdain for her sister's stories a little odd.

On this particular morning, she asked her friend Mary, "But don't you think it's strange that she should be so uninterested in...normal things?"

"What, like boys and the latest fashions?" Mary replied, laughing. "Well, I can't deny that it _is_ somewhat unusual, but I hardly think it's anything to worry about. She is still rather young, and after all, it is rather refreshing to see a girl her age with more on her mind than who's going with whom. And really, I have to admire her patience with children. My little brother and sister simply adore her. I'm sure if and when she does decide to settle down, she'll make a wonderful mother. Or perhaps she'll be a teacher, or a writer."

On the other side of town, Lucy arose very late in the morning, quickly ate what Edmund had left for her, and sought Peter out at his writing desk to ask a similar question.

"Do you think," she asked hesitantly, "that Susan is right?"

"No."

 _Please, no. Not her too._

The more Peter thought about it, the less surprised he was by Susan's choice. But Lucy, while hardly the perfect paragon of eternal childhood innocence and light their subjects had sometimes made her out to be, had never had any serious doubts when it came to Aslan, and he knew the day Lucy lost faith, all would be well and truly lost.

"Not about that," she exclaimed hastily. "I mean...she said...she thinks..." She took a deep breath and asked, "Do you think there's something wrong with me, because—"

"No. Sorry," he added, seeing her irritation at being cut off. "Please, go on."

"I've never been seriously interested in anyone."

"For which Edmund and I are deeply grateful." He received another glare and added, "Come on, Lucy. We're still young."

"Peter. I'm nearly thirty."

Most days, they were children. Incredibly mature children who had picked up a surprisingly vast array of skills during their time in the country, but children all the same, with children's minds in children's bodies that were only slowly catching up to what they once were, while increasingly hazy memories of their adult selves lay unobtrusively below the surface. But now and then, when they were particularly homesick or discouraged, when they needed strength and wisdom, when they thought about Narnia and Aslan and who they were and who they wanted to become again, the haze would clear for a moment, as if blown away by a Narnian wind, and they would remember more vividly and feel more deeply than they had in a long time, the truth of the saying, "Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen."

In this moment, High King Peter the Magnificent and Queen Lucy the Valiant shared a long look full of thoughts too deep for words before Peter sighed and admitted, "Honestly, I've wondered about that myself on occasion. But I don't suppose it's that strange, when you think about it. After all, we were only children when it all started, and we were still children for years, besides being kings and queens. Remember how careful visiting dignitaries always were to be proper and respectful when we met? And of course our own subjects would never presume to be too familiar. And even if we had any opportunity or inclination to try anything, we were always under the watchful eyes of tutors and guards and the great Lion himself.

"We may have ridden into battles and presided over trials and led an entire nation, but we were still innocent as far as love was concerned, and with good reason. We all knew we would come back eventually. You know the only reason we ever seriously considered Rabadash's offer of an alliance was because we knew Susan didn't love him. It would have been too hard on them both otherwise. But if he had really been what he seemed, we would not have regretted leaving Narnia in his care, when the time came.

"And here," Peter concluded, "we may not be exactly children anymore, but we still have years to go before we really ought to think seriously about such things. Just because Susan is in a hurry to grow up doesn't mean she needs to be concerned about us taking our time."

Lucy nodded in agreement, evidently comforted to know there was nothing to worry about.

"Do you think Susan will grow up someday?" she asked. "I mean, really grow up."

Peter shrugged. "I don't know, Lucy. But I hope so."


End file.
